


Unforgettable

by AnastasiaRosePhoenix12



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s Italy, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Historical References, Italian-American Reader, Pre-Battle of Azzano, Reader-Insert, Romance, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-21 23:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12/pseuds/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12
Summary: "You – you will miss me?" you sputter on your cigarette, agog he would admit freely.He laughs softly as you cough on the smoke, no ill will in his eyes, just plain kindness. "Yeah. Yeah, I will (Y/N). Funny, I... I barely even know you." He whispers the last part, suddenly facing away from you to take another drag with a sharp inhale.That is when you finally feel it. A pull. The little connection that has been forming since you first laid eyes on him, it's wrapped around your heart and he unknowingly has pulled on it. You can't keep your emotions in anymore, not when he's about to leave and for certain you'll never see him again.





	Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> came up with this after seeing the Bucky deleted scene from ca: tfa. originally a winterwitch romance but then I thought maybe it'd be better if it was reader-centric (which is my very first effort). so all of this happens right before Bucky & co. are captured by hydra. hope you enjoy ❤

 

 

**October 1943**

**Spoleto, Kingdom of Italy**

**10 km south of Azzano**

 

The first time you see him, it's when the armies are marching down the streets.

There is no warning from the mayor of their arrival ahead of time. You certainly haven't gotten wind of any circulating rumors of Allied advancement in central Italy.

You just wake up to the pounding of knuckles on your front door. Mumbling in your sleep, you hear the soft pitter-patter of your mamma's feet, followed by the boisterous voice of your middle-aged neighbor Miss Rosa.

" _Loro s_ _ono qui! Gli alleati -_ _sono qui! Ci hanno salvati!_ "

Your eyes open at the mention of the word 'Allies.'

The Allies? Why would she say the Allies? The Americans and British are there? Are there where? In Spoleto?

It couldn't be. 

You rise from your bed, throwing on your old white robe. You walk to the entrance of your stone cottage house, massaging your weary eyes of any crust. Behind you, you hear your uncle Federico grumbling about being woken up so early.

You join your mamma by the door.

" _Sono veramente qui..._ " she whispers in astonishment.

The soldiers are parading down the dirt road leading into the main part of the city. Everything is silent except for the stomping of their boots and scattered bird chirpings.

They have a hauntingly somber look on their faces. All of them. Trudging on the cemented path as if their feet were heavier than the artillery they were carrying on their shoulders. Uniforms ripped and stained with dried blood. Their whole appearance just disheveled, carrying no outward emotion.

And yet, they were your saviors.

You can't help the smile forming. For the first time in a year, you feel it dawning on you, like the sun peeking from the Apennines. Hope. Hope that the war really is coming to an end so you won't have to pray every night and sleep in constant fear of being taken away by the government, or worse, by the Nazis. Hope that fascism and its diseased ideology are going to go away, never to return.

You look at the faces of your saviors, attempting in vain to remember them. You feel an insurmountable wave of gratitude for them. Without them, their pain, suffering and sacrifice, your country would've shrunk to the ground. They risked their lives, not just for their homeland, but for yours as well.

As your eyes flicker back, wanting to catch a glimpse of the soldiers, you pause on one man with dark hair and growing stubble beard. You can only see his side profile, but it's enough.

Enough for you to declare that he's the most beautiful man you have ever laid eyes on. Even with his glum cheeks and murky uniform, you know he has gotten your attention.

The other soldiers forgotten, you keep your eyes trained on him, chasing him until all you can see is his back, and then nothing as the view is blocked by his other comrades. 

" _Finalmente_ ," says your uncle Federico with a slight quiver, letting you know he's trying to hold in his tears.

"Finally," you repeat, gripping your mamma's hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later that day, you go to work. It's business as usual in the city, despite the presence of the Allies. The Spoletinis doesn't let them interrupt their schedules. Instead they hurry to work in an effort to serve the Allied troops, to treat them with generosity. It's the least they could do, having liberated their beautiful ancient city from the disgusting Nazis.

The place you work is Graziella's, a small family-owned pub named after your _nonna_ , your grandma. You help waitress along with two other girls who are older than you. Your uncle works in the kitchen and your mamma manages the cash register, a job that used to be held by your papa.

You spend the entire afternoon and evening there, thanks to the onset of soldiers. Many of them clamor to the restaurant, obviously starved and dehydrated. You work very hard to get them their food and drink, anything to get something into their depleted systems. You almost remind yourself of a nurse, trying to reestablish her patients' health.

You also realize that you're on the lookout. For _him_. Constantly turning your head whenever the door opens, longing to see him cross the threshold and grab a seat.

But he doesn't. Not right away.

You do, however, serve his two closest friends. And it's through them that you meet him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He comes in to the pub after the troops have been there for four days. 

That fall day is particularly chilly, temperatures dipping below 60 degrees by the late afternoon. You're wearing a cozy knit sweater and slacks, hair twisted into a messy bun. It's only you and Giovanna waitressing; it's been a slow day, which is to be expected in the middle of the week.

You are fiddling behind the bar, cleaning some glasses with a towel and joking around with Giovanna when the bell above the door jingles, alerting you of an incoming customer.

Your giggling fades away, for your throat drops to the floor as soon as you see his face. His attractive, gorgeous face, even more breathtaking when seeing him up front. He's fresh-shaven, and you swear you've never seen such a sharp jawline or high cheekbones like his.

Behind him are the two men you have seen before. One is a dark-skinned man, the other a redhead with a handlebar mustache. They stand by the entry, talking amongst themselves.

You immediately put your head down and pretend to clean the glass in your hand although it's already dry and shiny. You wait for them to pick a table, but to your delighted surprise, they approach the bar. 

But you still keep your face low, making you scold yourself for being so shy. When Giovanna greets them, you get your head out of your ass and look up. The back of your knees wobbles, forcing you to grip the counter. Goodness, he's also _so_ tall!

"Ciao ladies," the redheaded giant accosted. "How about three bourbon whiskeys for us young gentlemen?"

You smile and nod, glancing at Giovanna who is looking at you for a translation. Once you repeat the order to her, you both prepare the drinks.

"Three bourbon whiskeys," you announce as you hand them their glasses.

After thanking you, they take a sip, relax into the stool and continue talking. With Giovanna retreating to the back for a break, you slide down to the end of the counter. You check the cash register, but really you are there to stare at the man sitting in the middle.

His eyes! Oh, you hadn't seen such blue eyes before. The color of the ocean, you thought. And his loose dark hair, not contained by his Army hat, fell in waves across the crown of his head. Add into the equation of his broad shoulders and the cleft on his chin –you exhale, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

You've honestly never seen such masculinity. A perfect Adonis-like sculpture of a beautifully well-built man.

"Hey, miss, can I get some chips?" asked the dark-skinned soldier.

Again you nod silently.

"Chips?" scoffed the redhead. "The fuck you wanna eat chips with whiskey?"

" _Cuz_ man. I'm hungry for some chips. Reminds me of home."

Hearing this, you go for the potato chips instead of the plantains. Your papa always spoke fondly of potato chips, so much so he had it incorporated into the pub's menu. "Here you go sir."

"Thank you." He paused, giving you an inquisitive look. "Hey... You speak good English for an Italian. If you don't mind me sayin'."

You blush at the compliment. "My father, he was from America."

This raises some eyes. "Oh really? What part?"

"New York."

 _His_ blue eyes lit up, and you hear him speak for the first time. "As in New York City?"

You nod. "Brooklyn."

"Well whattaya know! We gotta Brooklyn man right here!" exclaims the redhead, slapping his hands on the shoulders of the man in the middle, who rolls his eyes and shoves the redhead off him. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"(Y/N)."

He holds out a large hand. "The name's Timothy Dugan, at your service. But you can call me Dum Dum."

Your brows knit in confusion and you try not to snicker at the odd-sounding nickname. "Dum Dum?"

He opens his mouth to explain, but the other man eating chips interrupts him. "That's not a story worth hearin'," he states bluntly. "Gabe Jones. And this is Bucky Barnes."

You give a friendly smile but inside you're going wild. So that's his name! _Bucky Barnes_. Another odd name, you wonder if that is his nickname too. But in the end it doesn't matter. You are happy to get his name.

They stay there for another ten minutes. In that time, you hang by the counter, listening to them talk. Bucky doesn't say a lot, but he smiles and chuckles, and it's a sight you fall asleep to that night. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't come in the next day, which disappoints you. It's another slow afternoon for you, and by 7 o'clock, your mamma allows you to head home.

You're walking down the pavement, activity lessening as the sun begins to set. You tug your sweater close to your neck when a gust of wind hits you, blowing back your hair. As you pace at your own speed, you treat yourself to the view of your city. Vast areas of green grass, hills, and a mountain range, that is Spoleto for you. A safe haven, the only place you've called home. 

As you descend on the stone steps, you see ahead someone leaning up against the side of a building. The closer you get, the clearer the silhouette becomes. It's a man smoking. You slow down for a moment, adjusting to the other side of the narrow street.

It's not till you're almost past him when you discover it's Bucky. Dressed in civilian clothes, you barely recognize him. He's hunched over, his right shoulder leaning into the building as his head hangs low, causing some fringe to fall over his forehead.

You freeze on the spot. Your stomach somersaults in excitement, making your heart beat loudly against your chest.

"Bucky?" you say gently to not spook him.

He jumps slightly at the sound of your voice. Turning to look over his shoulder he sees you and a smile crosses his face as he removes the cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"Hey (Y/N)."

"Are you okay?" As soon you ask the question, you regret it. What a stupid thing to ask. Of course he isn't okay – he's fighting in a war!

Chuckling, he raises a brow. "You really wanna know?"

Embarrassed, you shake your head and try to fix your mistake. "Sorry... I didn't mean –"

Bucky holds up a hand, his expression compassionate. "I know what you meant. It's my fault, I apologize."

"Why? You've saved me," you say earnestly. "I owe you my life."

His eyes widen and the rest of his features soften. The pad of his thumb flicks on the cigarette while he pushes the other into his pocket. "Oh doll. Don't – I just – I'm just following orders, is all. You would've been liberated regardless."

You take a step closer. "But I'm happy it happen now. I'm happy it was you."

Relief flashes, followed by a bit of emotion, and finally on some tranquility. He smiles warmly at you just as you think his eyes water, which he tries to hide by sniffing and dipping his face to smoke. 

Crunching the cigarette under his boot, he looks back up at you. The gaze he sends you is enough to paralyze you. 

"Then it was my pleasure." He replies softly.

Left with nothing more to say, you bid him goodnight, feeling his eyes on you as you climb down the rest of the steps until you turn a corner.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky is there in the morning. Alone.

Instead of a drink, he orders black coffee and two slices of toasts coated with strawberry jelly. Rather than taking a table to himself, he opts for the counter. There are only three other customers in the pub, British soldiers, so you decide to hang by the register until your mamma returns from running errands.

You're busy counting money – for once, forgetting all about him – when he asks how old are you.

You say 18 without hesitation; it's the answer you've been giving for more than a year.

"You got someone? A sweetheart?"

You pause before shaking your head no, hoping it's not too bristly. You push back the distant memory of Giorgio; just thinking of his name saddens you and you refuse to be sad, especially around Bucky.

"What about you?" you ask, secretly praying he doesn't have any girl waiting at home.

"No," he says with a forced smile. "No I don't. Just my family."

"That's good. Not everyone has someone to return to," you say, gesturing with your eyes at the British troopers sitting quietly across the pub.

"Yeah," he nods, his expression lessening from the usual solemnness. "No, you're right."

Done counting the cash, you close the register and lean against the countertop, leaving a good enough space between you and him. You cross your legs at your ankles as you stand there, laying your chin on your open palm.

You don't veil your silent observation of him; you openly look as he eats the last of his toast and drinks a mouthful of coffee. There are dark circles under his eyes, which are themselves bruised. He appears like he can use a good night of sleep, making you wonder when is the last time he had that. When he sees you looking at him with a small smile, he snorts.

Putting the cup back on the saucer, he swallows before talking. "What?" he asks with a hint of playful snarkiness.

You want to say _s_ _ei bello, per favore non andate_ , but you don't. Instead you smile and simply answer, "Nothing."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky reappears later that night with Dugan and Jones.

Since you worked the morning shift you went home shortly after noon. But then your mamma calls your neighbor Miss Rosa (the only person in the neighborhood who has a phone) who relays the message: you are needed back at the pub. The reason for their busy evening is that the British Eighth Army is leaving north at dawn, and they want to spend their last war-free hours drinking and in the company of their brothers-in-arms.

You brush your hair and slip on a plain navy blue dress, black cardigan and flats. You add on a scarf for good measure; falling sick doesn't do you any good.

The pub is filled with raucous conversations and laughter by the Englishmen. You feel slightly overwhelmed by the abundance of testosterone, of these much older and stronger men who have gone to hell and back.

Then you remember that they chased the fascists and Nazis away, liberating Spoleto. You're stand there, breathing, your family alive, the pub still open. If they hadn't come in the nick of time...

You shake off your cardigan, along with your timidity, and get right to work. Even among the few longing looks you receive from the Englishmen, you still keep your chin high and ears open. They saved your city and you serving them one last time before they go try and liberate another city, it's your last effort of unspoken gratitude.

You feel better once Bucky and his two pals enter the pub. Dugan immediately calls for you by name, slapping the table twice. This surprises your mamma, and you can't suppress a giggle at Dugan's outlandish personality.

By the time the place has settled down, it's past midnight. Your feet are killing you and you have begun to occasionally yawn. Sleep is creeping on you, but you try to stay awake by helping your mamma clean the counter.

From your peripheral, coming from the direction of Bucky and his friends, you see movement. Raising your eyes, you see Bucky put on his uniform jacket.

"Alright I'll be back. Don't do anything crazy without me," he jokes, eliciting chuckles from Dugan and Jones. 

You aren't an impulsive person; at least, you don't think so. You see yourself as intuitive, planning your moves before doing it, listening to your brain rather than your heart.

But in that moment, your heart refuses to be ignored again. You're gathering your scarf and cardigan, ravaging a drawer for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Before you even know it, your legs are striding across the pub. Sleep is omitted – you're now wide awake and trailing after Bucky. 

"(Y/N)!  _Dove stai andando_?" your mamma asks.

Not bothering to face her, you say, "Uh, _a_ _l di fuori. Una pausa veloce, ritornerò._ "

" _Aspetti_  –!" You hear her telling you to wait, but the door's already closed.

Regaining your composure, you seek Bucky out in the bitter night. You find him on your left, sitting on a bench. He's smoking, the gray mist covering his face for a split second before quickly fading into the air. You immediately look away, adjusting your scarf as light cold wind hits you.

You reach into your cardigan pocket for your ciggy and lighter while thinking of what to say to him.

_How's your day been?_

_Do you have news about any changes of the Allies' position in the country?_

_What are you going to do after the war?_

Clamping your lips in the cig, you flick the lighter. No flame. You flick it again; same result. After a third useless try, you hold it up into the street lamps. The container is empty. Groaning, you slide the cigarette in between your index and second finger to head inside and retrieve another.

"Need a lighter?"

You stiffen. It's a rough but gentle voice, carried by the wind to you.

He holds out his own lighter, giving you a friendly smile. You drop your empty one into your pocket and walk towards him, taking a seat next to him on the bench. You put your cigarette back on your lips and lean into him, one palm providing coverage from the wind as he lights up the cigarette. Crossing your legs, you inhale. You never liked the smell it created, but in this moment, you only care for the quick warmth it gives you.

" _Grazie_."

He nods, hiding the lighter in his pocket of his slacks. "How'd you say 'You're welcome?'"

" _Prego_."

"Oh. That's an easy one." He briefly looks at you. " _Pr_ _ego_."

You chuckle under your breath, taking another puff. You both sit there for a while, neither of you saying anything. It's hard to see the stars, the sky covered in clouds and the moon at its waxing gibbous phase. Besides soldiers exiting the pub, it's very quiet in the neighborhood.

When you can't handle the silence any longer, you ask the first thing that pops into your mind. "When is your regiment going?"

He takes a slow drag of the cigarette. "Should be gone by the end of the week, if not sooner."

Thank goodness it's too dark for him to see the reaction on your face because you definitely don't feel good. You know you don't want him to leave, in fact it scares you that he and the rest of his company are. What if them leaving so soon after liberating the city is a mistake? Will the fascists or the Nazis be back? Who will protect all of you?

"Honestly, though... I kinda don't wanna go on," Bucky continues. "It's been nice. Real nice, these past few days. Be able to clear my head from the yelling, the gun powder, the blood, _death_." He sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit. "To just... just lie down, go to sleep, wake up, come over here for breakfast and see your pretty little face," he chuckles as he glances at you with a sad smile. "I think I'll miss that the most."

"You – you will miss me?" you sputter on your cigarette, agog he would admit freely.

He laughs softly as you cough on the smoke, no ill will in his eyes, just plain kindness. "Yeah. Yeah, I will (Y/N). Funny, I... I barely even know you." He whispers the last part, suddenly facing away from you to take another drag with a sharp inhale.

That is when you finally feel it. A pull. The little connection that has been forming since you first laid eyes on him, it's wrapped around your heart and he unknowingly has pulled on it. You can't keep your emotions in anymore, not when he's about to leave and for certain you'll never see him again.

The cigarette falls uneventfully from your fingers, the sole of your foot crushing it dead. You sit there for a moment, peering at his side profile, debating if you are going to regret what you're about to do.

Seeing him, you realize you won't.

You fleetingly look at the pub for any sign of mamma before returning to the man sitting inches from you. His warmth radiates appealingly to you, and for the first time in a _long time_ , the heat reaches that sensitive spot between your thighs.

Licking your lips in anticipation, you cautiously stretch your arm to reach for his cigarette. He immediately turns to you, and once your eyes are locked, it's a bond that cannot be broken. You dump the cigarette on the cold pavement and slide ever so slightly towards him until you can feel his balmy breathing tickle your nose. Holding his gaze, you begin to lean in. You see his brows start to furrow, but then his lips take over your vision.

You kiss him.

And you're shocked, not to mention hurt, when he doesn't respond.

His mouth is limp against yours, even after trying to pry it open, he doesn't budge. You pull away and see his blue eyes are wide open, staring at you as if you were crazy. You feel more hurt, offended, by his obvious rejection.

So you clearly had read him wrong. Ashamed, you swallow the bile, the tears that are threatening to spill. Your eyes frantically glimpse at the pub; you just want to get out of there and cry into your pillow.

But as if he had read your plan to escape, Bucky abruptly cups your face and he delivers a bruising, mind-numbing kiss.

You don't hide your desperation, and neither does he. 

Your hands fly up to hang onto the inside of his elbows as he plows his tongue into your mouth, making you moan at how powerful he is at dominating.

His fingers curl under your ear lobes and some strands of your hair. He pushes you even more closer to him, causing your bare knee to graze against his. You let out a soft whine when his tongue traces your bottom lip, biting it gently with his teeth.

As he moves away from your lips, kissing his way down your neck, you sigh contentedly. He tastes delicious, so much better than you could have ever imagined.

"I don't want you to go," you disclose with a slight crack in your tone.

"I know doll, I know," he caresses your jaw with his nose. "God knows I don't wanna."

You dip your head to capture his lips again, but then you break completely away from him at the sound of male laughter coming from the pub. Four soldiers, Americans from the uniform, have exited and walking somewhat tipsy. They pass you, and even though it's dark out, your flushed faces and heaving give you away.

"Is that you, Barnes? Holy shit! It is!"

"And with a dame!" another adds.

They start doubling over in laughter, one of them whistling. 

"Barnes gettin' it! Oh man you lucky bastard!"

Embarrassed at your public display of affection, you hug yourself with your sweater, feeling really cold all of a sudden. You wait for the soldiers to disappear, then you wordlessly get up, aiming to back inside the pub before your mamma runs out here and catches you with a man in his mid-20s.

You only take two steps when you hear Bucky exclaim, "Wait, (Y/N)!" 

Twisting your torso only halfway, one vigilant eye looking into the windows of the pub, you listen for him to elaborate.

"I wanna see you again." He pauses. "D'you wanna see me again?"

Sensing his trepidation, you raise your eyes and look at him. My God, he's so beautiful. His mouth is plump from where you kissed him, cheeks colored in red from the chilly weather. He's quite the marvelous sight. He has no reason to worry about you dismissing him. You could never do that to him.

"Yes," you say. "I do. I work tomorrow night. Same time?"

He flashes a grin that just wrecks you. Nodding approvingly, he doesn't say anything as he starts walking backwards with his hands buried in his pockets, doting eyes straight on you. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

You're barely functioning as you lead him to the Duomo.

Instead of entering the pub, Bucky had waited on the same bench. For how long, you didn't know. You had intended to ask him, but that thought flew from your mind when he grasped your hand and leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek. _You look lovely, doll_ , he had whispered into your ear, eliciting a shiver to take over your body that couldn't ever be challenged by even the coldest blast of wind.

You don't feel lovely, having worked for 9 hours, but his flattery produces a maddening blush and you want to kiss him so badly. But you hold back, and instead link your hands together as you direct him through the narrow vacant streets of Spoleto to the Duomo, three miles away from the pub.

When you turn the corner into the plaza of the Duomo, illuminated in gold lights, Bucky is in disbelief.

"A _church_?" he asks incredulously.

You giggle, left to imagine the wild thoughts crossing his mind.

"Ain't this kinda sacrilegious?"

Your nose wrinkles at the word; you've never heard of it. "Hmm?"

"You know, sinful. Unholy to be doin' what we're about to do in there," he squeezes your hand, chuckling.

"Oh," you say, and you can't help but laugh his innuendo. "Well… I don't think so," You mean it too. "Do you?"

He looks down at you pensively, his forehead slightly creasing as he thinks momentarily. Then he swoops his arm around your waist and his other free hand cups the back of your neck. He pulls your flush against his chest, causing you to be on your tippy-toes as he invades your mouth in another dizzy spell of a kiss.

Smiling against your mouth, he murmurs a firm _no_.

The wide downhill pathway to the Romanesque Duomo quickens your pace. Rather than going through the front door, the one you always cross every Sunday morning for Mass, you diverge to the right where there is a gate. You follow a pebbled trail that leads to a back entrance of the building.

Twisting the knob, you exhale softly in relief when it opens. Locking it behind you, you observe the room. Rarely visited by the priests, it's used to stock century-old documents and ancient furniture. You heart lurches when you see the red blanket rolled in between two little pillows on a decrepit armchair. The blanket is right where you had left it three years ago.

Those nights of sneaking off with Giorgio, before the war…

You shake your head of those foregone memories as you unwrap the blanket and wave it in the air to get rid of the accumulated dust. Bucky helps you lay it on the frigid stone floor. It's deathly quiet in the room, the only sounds coming your breathing and the occasional chirping of the crickets.

Bucky begins taking off his jacket, and you realize he is in civilian clothing again. He drops the jacket on the blanket, then stares at you, his hooded eyes peeking from his long lashes. A surge of lust washes over you, and in five strides, you toss yourself on him.

He grips the back of your head as he rests you on the blanket and positions himself in between your legs. Wounding them on his waist, you trap him there, the hem of your dress falling onto your hip. You immediately feel his hardened length against your flimsy underwear, so you instinctively thrust upwards, and the sensation is so ungodly pleasurable that both of you groan in synchrony.

Your nails rake over his back, loving the outline of toned muscles. He lowers his mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses on your chin and jaw. Meanwhile your hands move to his waist, clenching into fists as you remove his shirt from under his belt. He helps you by lifting it off completely, and you don't bother hiding your awed expression at his exposed chest.

He dips down again to deliver an open-mouth kiss, then returns to the hollow your neck. You feel as his teeth nip at your skin, fingers running through his unruly nest of hair and your legs squish against his waist.

As Bucky goes to your collarbone, his hands picks at your covered shoulders. He pushes down the sleeves your dress, and desperately coveting physical touch, you oblige. When you're done, the dress is left scrunched at your mid-section.

You hear a guttural sound emit from the back of his throat at the sight of your naked breasts before enveloping one into his salivating mouth. You gasp audibly, your palms helplessly clinging to the sides of his face as he delicately sucks your nipple while kneading the other nipple into a hard peak.

"God, you _taste_ so good (Y/N)," he pants. "You _feel_ so good."

Already craving his slick tongue, you bring him back up to you. His arm caresses yours, his fingernails skimming your goose bumped skin, until he reaches your thigh. He raises it and runs his palm under it, stopping when his fingers have reached your entrance.

You have to break from the kiss as you painfully inhale at the hypersensitive contact.

"Oh, Bucky," you moan at the pressure of his hot palm on your achingly wet opening.

You nearly lose your all senses when he easily slips a finger through your folds. A turbulent tremor shakes your spine after he adds another digit, lifting your whole upper body into a sweaty collision with his.

" _Non fermatevi, tesoro, per favore non fermatevi!_ " you beg, clawing at his back as you feel the crest rising in the pit of your stomach.

The wave continues to rapidly grow, aided by your messy rocking on his fingers. Bucky sets his mouth onto your shoulder blade and starts to bite down on your skin. A few more thrusts and then you're starry-eyed.

As you lay there, gasping and twitching from your high, Bucky slowly removes his hand. He licks at the spot where he bit you (though you're too delirious to realize the indent left, you certainly revel in it afterwards) and then licks his own fingers of your essence.

Feeling emboldened, you take one of his fingers into your mouth, tasting more of his saliva than your juices but you don't care.

The act surprises Bucky, who smiles and gasps when you teasingly bite down as retribution for the mark on your shoulder that will surely be there for a few weeks, long after he's gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You still report to work the next morning amidst the little throb in your privates and the lack of sleep. You ignore the suspicious looks your mamma gives you, even after you tell her you went by Giovanna's house and she, bless her, corresponds with your story.

It's a little after 3 o'clock, and with the place relatively empty besides three tables being used, you're given the go-ahead to leave.

You finish arranging the glasses when the bell dings. Coming through the threshold is Bucky. He's back to wearing his uniform.

Blue-gray eyes steer on you, as if he had known you'd be behind the counter. His face is very serious, but also downtrodden.

He sits on the stool directly in front of you. 

"Hello," you greet him casually. "What would you like?"

"A shot of brandy, please."

You raise a brow at his selection, but oblige. You stand there, hand resting on your hip as he gulps the brandy. You're impressed when he doesn't even squeeze his eyes shut for a second or purse his lips at the strong flavor.

But that's also how you know that there's something wrong.

"We leave at dawn," he whispers coarsely, eyes evading yours.

Your heart stops beating. "What?"

" _We leave at dawn,_ " he repeats, stressing out every word. He's gripping the shot cup so hard it turns his knuckles white and you're afraid he'll break it. 

So this is it. The moment you've been dreading since you kissed him. The moment you knew would inevitably come but prayed it somehow wouldn't. He is going to leave and you'll never see each other again. Never see him smile or laugh, never run your fingers through his hair, never feel his skin against yours. It'll all fade into a memory, just like with Giorgio.

You want to sob and just hug him, but you know better than to do that in public. However it doesn't stop you from frowning, or your throat tightening, or your eyes starting to burn.

"But... I thought you said..."

"Orders have changed," he answers quickly, but his voice is strained and he seems to be battling himself to keep calm and collected.

You can only nod, for the rest of you has gone numb. Reaching for the shot glass, his calloused hand suddenly seizes yours. Stunned by his lack of decency, and scared your uncle will come out any second, you try to get it back but Bucky doesn't budge. He looks at you with hollowed but halcyon eyes, his determination for something seeping through.

"Will you see me one last time tonight?"

You know the answer (and you kind of feel that he does too), so you say, "By the bench."

He instantly relaxes, reducing the wrinkles on his forehead and near the corners of his eyes. He lets his hand linger over yours for a moment that feels like forever, the pad of his index finger stroking your bony wrist as he stares at you with unquestionable yearning.

Then in the blink of an eye, he deposits a lira and walks out of the pub.

Without his warmth, your hand gets cold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There is a change of location for your nighttime tryst.

Instead of returning to the Duomo, you take Bucky to a stone cottage previously occupied by your mamma's friend. Said friend left for England just three weeks ago, and her home remains abandoned. On your break you had visited the cottage, finding a couch, an old mattress, raggedy blankets and other useless furniture. But it was enough, you believed, and instead of eating your lunch you had dedicated that time to clean up the living room area.

Which is where you found yourself, under the weight of Bucky.

His open wet kisses are maddening. He's forcing himself on you much more harder than last time. His hands are maneuvering all over your body, as if what he's touching isn't enough.

His impatience is obvious, and though you want it just as bad, you don't want to rush through what is your second and last night together.

You grip his eager hands fondling your breasts and push them off you. He responds with an annoyed whine.

"Shh," you comfort him, capturing his pouty bottom lip with your teeth. "Slow down, Bucky. We have all night."

The foggy haze in his eyes lift, reasoning coming back into focus. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

"Don't be, _mio dolce_ ," you lay a tender kiss on him. "Just make love to me."

And that he does. You help each other take off your clothing, until you are stark naked and shivering from the cold temperatures.

Bucky is an expert in making you feel like a queen; he's so attentive to every part of your body, you just know this isn't his first time doing it, but it is in sometime.

You shudder when his mouth finally reaches your opening. You're achingly wet for him, and he doesn't let you down. Hiking up a leg over his shoulder, he dives right in to your pool. You moan out his name when his tongue starts lapping at your clit, falling apart as it parts the lips of your vulva and swims right in. You come hard, your throat dry as you pant.

But Bucky doesn't stop. He continues with his wicked tongue, leaving your vagina completely overwhelmed. You already feel the high brimming, readying itself to revisit the peak. He pulls you closer, and you can't imagine how much closer he can possibly get – his face is buried deep between your thighs, his hard breathing tickling you as he eats you plentiful.

You're heaving, mouth opened to scream as you shut your eyes and grip the blanket underneath. One more lick and there is another explosion. You're convulsing, trembling from the sheer power of your orgasm.

Bucky raises his head and takes a deep breath, smirking at you as he kisses his way back to you.

"How'd you like that?" he asks with a mischievous hint.

You embrace and chuckle, sweeping your fingers across the wide expanse of his muscled back. Your own is beginning to hurt from laying on the stone floor, so you push him under you.

Now straddling him, palms resting on his pecs, you look at him. The image beholden is one you want to remember forever. His messy brown hair, that angelic angular face with the sharpest jawline you've ever seen, ocean blue eyes you could totally get lost in. 

And even the length of his cock, which is engorged and veiny in your grip.

You run your hand up and down slowly, loving how still Bucky has become with just one stroke. His eyes fluttering shut and his mouth slightly parted, grasping at your hips, he's already making you wet once again.

The slit oozes precum, and you rub it all around the head and the rest of him in agonizing caresses. Your free hand slithers up his sweaty chest, up his dimpled chin to his mouth eliciting soft moans. Tracing the outline, you flex one digit between his teeth. He immediately bites down, causing you to gasp and tightly grip his cock. His hips arch forwards, the muscles underneath you are seizing.

Finger still in his mouth, you raise yourself up and slam back down on his awaiting erection. You close your eyes at the sweet penetration as Bucky groans loudly. He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you down for another wet and discombobulated kiss. 

You start rocking your pelvis back and forth, wailing at the sensation wrecking you as the tip of his cock hits your g-spot. You pick up a reckless pace, the only nugget of importance running through your aroused mind being to reach your peak. It's something that you've been sorely missing, the palpation of a man being inside of you instead of your skinny fingers.

"Slow down doll," you hear Bucky moan. He anchors his hands on either side of your hip. "We have all night." 

It takes you a second to catch him quoting you, which makes you chuckle and abide him. You lean back as your movements do slow down. One hot hand crawls up your stomach and massages a breast while the other rubs at the nub of your clit.

You get a constant rhythm going on. The wave is rising and rising, the image behind eyes starting to glow with stars. The buildup is flying high, not just for you but for Bucky too. Your stamina reemerging, you don't hold back pounding on him and he doesn't stop you either.

In fact Bucky is now aiding you in your brutal efforts.

"Ah, fuck (Y/N)! Don't stop, don't stop. Please."

You gnaw on your lower lip as hard as you can, the pain incomparable to the conflagration that's spreading throughout your clammy body.

Your raging, and before you can catch a breath of air, the stars explode. Lip released from your teeth, you scream as the orgasm bursts through every vein and artery.

"Oh, Bucky, _oh!_ "

You're left a mess, physically and mentally. The pulsating high is cresting over the tide, giving you time to take a much-needed breather. Satisfyingly dazed, you don't even realize you're back under him until he starts gently thrusting into you. He hasn't come yet.

It doesn't take long for your arousal to reawaken. Arching into his rough tempo as he begins weakening, the tip of his nose bumping into yours with every shaking thrust, his breathing starts hitching up. He's close, so close you can feel it, and now so are you once again.

One hand is holding the nape of your neck, the other on your hip, while you rake your fingernails over his back. He's pushing himself so deep in you, you briefly wonder if this is what love feels like. 

"Look at me," Bucky beseeches. "(Y/N) look at me."

You open your eyes and the burning intensity of his cool blue irises astounds you. You've never felt this before. Pure passion, lust, fervor, want. All directed at you, as if you are the last person on earth. He holds you with such unthinkable force, even when he is at his most weakest and vulnerable moment. Not even Giorgio had looked at you like that, and like Bucky, he had gone into war. No man has ever made you feel what Bucky is making you feel.

His face lowers, sweaty lips hovering yours, his ragged breaths exiting him and entering you. Feeling the climax, you raise your neck furthermore and out of instinct, want to close your eyes. But you dare don't.

With one last desperate heave, Bucky pounds into you and collapses. A mind-blowing quake rips at you, causing ripples of pleasure carried by his seed.

He nuzzles into your neck, muffling his strangled moans.

Afterwards, you both lay there, covered in a pair of old raggedy blankets. The right side of your face resting on his chest, you find comfort in his absentmindedly caresses on your lower back. A pillow rests under his head, and there's two more, but you're too lazy to get them.

Neither of you say anything for a while. Though you don't know his reason, you certainly know yours and it's quickly eating at you. If you say anything close to how you really feel, you'll break. And you can't do that, not when he's about to head back to the battleground. It's not fair to him.

He breaks the silence first. "Have you thought about the future?"

"No," you reply, hoping not to sound too pessimistic. "I just want to get through this alive first."

You can feel him nod. "Yeah. Yeah, me too."

There's a pause, and then, "You're not really 18, are you?"

You immediately stiffen, and you just know that he knows he's got you. Initially you don't even know what to say, flipping back and forth if you should lie or be truthful. Before you decide, he speaks up again.

"You don't have to lie to me," he counsels, softly rubbing your arm as if to lessen the little inner turmoil going on in your head.

"I will be 18 soon," is all you say.

He hums in response but doesn't further the conversation. You're briefly curious to ask for his age but then it goes away. Tranquility settles in again and you cuddle further as you drift off. 

You awake to his gentle shake. Opening a tired eye, you see it's still dark out but the birds have started their morning songs. Your muscles, all the way to your bones, ache as you stretch. Beside you, you hear the popping noises of Bucky's arms and legs as he groans and rises.

Just like last night, you dress without speaking. He hands you your dress, which is longer this time to provide a barrier on your legs against the cold, your hand-made scarf and your cardigan. 

But one article of clothing he doesn't return is your black panties. You blush as you see him not to sneakily shove it into his trousers pocket, but you don't say anything.

By the time the cottage's living room has been organized to the way it was, the sun is creeping above the hills.

You tug on the collar of your cardigan as he turns around to fully face you since a couple of hours ago when you both climaxed.

He gives you a hesitant, almost pained melancholy regard. And you crumble. You clutch onto him, standing on your tippy toes as you bury your face into his chest.

"Oh darlin'," Bucky bemoans softly on your ear. His hands run over your hair, your shoulders, your back, any way to soothe you. But none of it works.

"Don't leave," you gasp.

"You know I gotta," he swallows. "I'm... I'm sorry," his voice breaks.

Your grip tightens as you fight the emotions threatening to ruin the goodbye. "I know... but I - I want you safe – I don't want –"

He cuts the onset of your blubbering off with a kiss. With the amount of fervor and desperation he throws your way, you know this is it. He's giving you a goodbye kiss.

You're left breathless and a bit off balance when he breaks away. His hands are holding your small face, the pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks as you lift your neck all the way to stare into his endless blue eyes.

"Don't worry about me doll," he pleads. "You worry about yourself and your family. Nobody else. Okay? Like you said, you gotta get through this alive, right?"

"But what about _you_ , Bucky?" you argue, pulling on the lapel of his jacket. "You have to make it too. Not just me. You too."

Bucky is now on the verge of tears, and it's something you instantly regret making me feel, prolonging his suffering.

"I'll try, doll," he sniffles. "I can't promise ya, but _I'll try. I will._ Okay?"

Nodding aimlessly, you take a mental snapshot of him. Tousled dark brown hair, his watery blue eyes, sunken cheekbones and the bristles of a stubble around his pink lips. Similar to what you saw him just a couple days ago, walking down the dirt road in the battalion. Somber, but also a hint of peace and possible motivation. You're not sure exactly what you're seeing in the battered man standing before you, but you know you'll probably never want someone as much as you do him.

You lean in to kiss the cleft on his chin and embrace him, taking comfort in the strong, muscled arms and the circle of heat radiating from him.

" _Non ti dimenticherò mai_ , Bucky." you whisper inaudibly.

Bucky pulls back and gives you another loving look.

"You take care, (Y/N). That's an order."

And before he walks out of the door, out of your life forever, he slips a silver dog tag in a ball chain into your shivering hands.

Glancing down at the tag as tears flow, you read what it is inscribed.

**BARNES**

**JAMES B.**

**32557038**

**O POSITIVE**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> there may be a sequel...
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  **\- Loro sono qui! Gli alleati - sono qui! Ci hanno salvati!:** They are here! The Allies - they are here! They saved us!  
>  **\- Sono veramente qui:** They really are here  
>  **\- Sei bello, per favore non andate:** You're beautiful, please don't go  
>  **\- Dove stai andando?:** Where are you going?  
>  **\- Al di fuori. Una pausa veloce, ritornerò:** Outside. A quick break, I'll be back  
>  **\- Non fermatevi, tesoro, per favore non fermatevi:** Do not stop, darling, please do not stop  
>  **\- Mio dolce:** my sweet  
>  **-Non ti dimenticherò mai:** I won't ever forget you


End file.
